alexis! (celebutante) wrote in evaluation, @ 2019-11-15 12:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !rooms: 2, !rooms: 2: day 1, dc: constantine: john constantine, it: chapter two: richie tozier, schitt's creek: alexis rose |
Who: Alexis (with Ted in the background, because this is his clinic), Richie, and Constantine
What: Stitches, because someone got thrown into a bar by a headless ghost
When: Day 1, morning
Where: Vet Clinic
Rating: Mostly PG
Status: Complete
There hadn’t been this many people in town for awhile. Alexis was slightly concerned that Schitt’s Creek may burst at the seams, but then again, the sleepy little hotspot could always use a little excitement injected right into it. She wasn’t going to complain - more people meant more money for the motel, and more supporting locally-owned small businesses like Rose Apothecary and the cafe. Not like she could drink all of Twyla’s motor oil smoothies by herself. Well, anyway, she stopped by the vet clinic after she’d showered and changed from her run, fully anticipating that she’d be helping out - since she was still the best receptionist, even if Ted had hired someone else who actually had like, experience on her resume. Whatever. She could be found at the front counter - casually leafing through catalogues to get the latest in Prada designs, while chewing on a stick of neon pink bubblegum, something strawberry flavored. Her ‘look’ was casual as well, black leggings, a silky tee, tall black boots, a cardigan thrown over her shirt. Hearing the door jingle, she looked up to find there was more blood than she anticipated when it came to the latest emergency and, oh, cool. Um. “Heeeeeey,” she greeted, trying not to let the abject horror show on her face. “So like, you know what? Don’t bother to sign in. We’ll just consider this undercover mafia work.” Somebody’s poker face could use some work. John didn’t particularly take offense. He knew they both looked like ten miles of bad road, but still dredged up the thin edges of a smirk anyway. “Thanks, poppet. You’re a gem,” he croaked out, whiskey-rough accent garbled into something that sounded like a garbage disposal was trying to do battle with a rock tumbler and nobody was coming out the clear winner. Where they were still remained something of a mystery. Why was another. John had basically dumped things into a room, shut the door, grabbed the key, and strong-armed Richie in this direction because blood loss was a problem that needed a professional and even with everybody’s mojo seemingly intact and kicking again, he didn’t know if they had a healer on hand. And if they did, he didn’t know enough to trust them anyway. Better keep things simple. A vet was a little more simple than he’d been intending, but would get the job done at least. Adjusting the arm he’d wrapped around Richie’s waist, he cocked his head in question. “Which way to the doc?” “This way,” Alexis chirped, dropping her magazine and moving to show the two trash fires to where Ted had his supplies and equipment. She’d purposely moved around Muffy the yip-yip dog’s anal gland thing and then another appointment involving cleaning a cat’s teeth to accommodate, because bleeding out was just so uncool. “Oh, your throat - “ She tsked, after getting a good look at those injuries. “Next time be more careful with the sex choking - you have to watch the vagus nerve.” Richie snorted, holding onto John and a distinct pasty shade. Fuck everything. “You think we’ve even had time for that?” God, he wished. Once they got in the exam room she around to let Ted handle the bleeding guy. He also told Alexis to handle the other guy, who looked like he grabbed broken glass and held on too tightly. Her response at first was ‘ew, Ted’ but then she decided she could handle cleaning cuts and some bandages. But still, ew. Richie was being stitched up, and she came at John with anti-bacterial stuff. “Where did you even come from, anyway?” she asked. Point of fact, he had grabbed onto broken glass and held on too long… though frankly, any amount of holding was too long, wasn’t it? Painful, certainly, but in this case, it had been pretty damned necessary and John could (usually) be counted on to do the necessary thing, however ugly. He planted Richie onto an exam table that could probably be trusted to hold his weight, pressed a glancing kiss to his cheek, and let himself be herded along by She of Too Many Titles. “Dunno,” John admitted, squinting dubiously at the supplies being wielded in his direction. He wasn’t so keen on offering up his hands, but he was less keen to lose them to gangrene or whatever, so. Up his palms came for inspection. “Got ourselves locked in a haunted house… somewhere. Left, found ourselves here. Wherever here is.” It was better the house so far. John could feel with all of his senses again, which was a vast fucking improvement, thanks. The doors all seemed to open. There was air. There was sunlight. So the air was a bit nippy and the locals a little too friendly, so what? Could be worse. Could be another draugr… or, and John might have to go find the nearest bar to drink its entire contents as quickly as possible if one turned up… another anagram. Alexis was gentle with those offered palms, cleaning the cuts because infection was so green and gross, no one wanted that. “Here is a town called Schitt’s Creek,” she said. “It’s very rustic barn party, bonfire vibes. My dad bought the town as a joke, for my brother, and afterward everything just went completely topsy-turvy for us - we lost our money, and like, died for a little because what are you supposed to do in that situation?” Dark days, those were. Bereft of happiness. Bereft of Jimmy Choo’s and champagne and pill binges 30,000 feet in the air, flying first class to Places Unknown. “Anyway, so we were forced to move to this town because we needed a place to live and now here we are still. Gotta say this is the first time anyone from a haunted house has shown up, but okay.” Did he mean, you know, Disneyland? “Also, like - what’s your name?” she asked, because that seemed important to know. Bought a town. As a joke. Right. Some things were becoming clearer about She of Too Many Titles, though John could’ve made an educated guess about two seconds after their first exchange. Rude to just assume, though, and he didn’t want to be rude to someone poised to jab at him with medical supplies. That wasn’t particularly clever. “John,” he supplied after what might’ve been a moment of glazed staring. “Constantine. Answer t’both, not picky, me.” He tipped his head back in Richie’s direction. “Richie. Plus at least a couple dozen, maybe more, of the rest of us who were stuck in the house. Sorry ‘bout the influx, but I promise it wasn’t our idea.” Well. It wasn’t his idea, anyway, and he would wager none of the rest of the motley crew they’d met while at the mercy of Reginald Carstairs had chosen a place called Schitt’s Creek out of their subconscious for the next stop on the tour. "Mmkay. So that’s pretty much the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” Alexis hummed, then clarified, “That a bunch of people arrived here on a party bus from a haunted house, not your name. John Constantine’s not that weird of a name.” Maybe about a six, on a one-to-ten scale. She’d definitely heard weirder. One of her friends back home (well, home before this home) went with Taylee as a name for her newborn baby and it was le tragic. Like, if that didn’t scream ‘wtf white people’ then Alexis just didn’t know what else would. It didn’t look like John’s hand slices needed stitches - unlike Richie, who was definitely getting patched up by Dr. Ted. Mostly it was his arm, and his side, since that’s where he’d landed when he made impact with the bar and a bunch of glass bottles. “Nice to meet you,” he slurred, trying not to fall dead asleep because how long had it been. “Does Schitt’s Creek have a bar or what?” “Not in the town exactly, but there’s one on the outskirts. It’s called the Wobbly Elm. Super sketch,” Alexis placed a smiley-face bandaid on John’s hand. “Hope you two hotties had your tetanus shots. But it’s where most of the townies go to get drunk. Or laid. Not for me anymore though, right babe?” That was directed at Ted, who Richie thought looked like a model from a fucking toothpaste commercial. But whatever. He preferred rough n’dirty, and distinctly British. Sleep was second on the agenda. Or third? They’d arrived, thrown things in a room, come here to make sure Richie didn’t keel over, and next… going back to the motel to sleep. Last John recalled, it had been very much evening... and now it wasn’t, with no sleep between. Because time travel or universe hopping or magic or something that was beyond his ken right this second, but he’d confab with some others on the finer details later. Once his brain was kicked back into something like working order, which would undoubtedly require a good eight hours. Oh. And the beds were actually beds now, so he might be disinclined to move again until tomorrow. No more marzipan sheets or rats creeping through the walls or finding clowns loitering in the shadows. Probably. The motel didn’t look that rough, though a Five Star Establishment it was not. Just as well. John didn’t fit in with those places anyway. “Bar when you’ve got more blood in you than outside,” John informed, glancing Richie’s direction. “Otherwise you’ll be a cheap date, lamb. D’rather our first not end with you vomiting.” Again went unsaid. Hack surgery on dead things did not qualify as a date, not even in John’s particularly strange experience. Attention swiveled back to Alexis, dark eyes sharp in spite of exhaustion. “Nothing weirder than us around lately, then?” If Richie were less fatigued, he’d have turned the color of a fire engine - because talking about going on a date, with another man (not to mention all the other stuff leading up to it) in the presence of others was not something he ever did. It also helped that the two others in the vicinity didn’t seem to give a fuck or find that backward at all. Alexis was simply applying another smiley face bandaid to her patient here. “I’m always a cheap date,” he grinned lazily, looking at John through his lashes, blue eyes basically just pupils floating in sloshy water at this point. He needed to grab a mint on the way out, since he saw them in a jar on the front desk. For the human clients, the animal-parents. It meant tasting less like actual trashmouth when he inevitably grabbed John and kissed him goodnight before falling asleep for six years. “That’s so sweet, I know you’ll love the bar for your first date,” Alexis said. “But, um - not really anything weird? Well, this one time my dad and I tried out the raw milk business. Like, there were about twelve contraband jugs in the back of the truck and we went through a police checkpoint. Didn’t go well. I tried to tell them, it’s okay, it’s fine - like, it was literally just a drive-through except everyone has a gun. I’ve been through a ton in Johannesburg.” The smile John flashed in Richie’s direction was softer than most he offered, lingering as he watched the progress being made in stitching up torn skin. Richie was made of tougher stuff than he looked, but he definitely deserved a break. Even if the bar in this town was a literal hole in the wall, it would be a start. They’d get there. Tomorrow, maybe. He flexed and wiggled his fingers, cautious, once it seemed Alexis was done applying little plasters. Nothing pulled in a bad way, so he hummed approval. “Thanks, poppet. Appreciate this. And if you do see something odd… that isn’t us, anyway… you give a shout. Weird is sort of our business at this point.” It had always been his, but Richie seemed to be establishing himself as well, and that was all to the good. If he couldn’t handle strange, this thing would never work out between them. Poppet, that was so cute. “I will totally let you know if I see something weird that is not hallucinogenic. Your accent’s so fun, by the way,” Alexis stated happily, giving John a playful little swat. “It reminds me of the time when I was casually seeing Prince Harry, and all my friends were taking bets on me becoming a princess. It didn’t work out though, alas.” Richie huffed a laugh. He was about all stitched up now, so he gingerly moved to (gingerly) put his shirt back on - though he was interested in burning these gangster clothes and slipping into something a little more modern. If that was going to be a thing in this town, but it seemed like it would. All crap considered, Schitt’s Creek was...almost normal. “Can I get a horse tranq in a doggie bag or what?” Unfortunately, Ted wouldn’t let him have one. So Ibuprofen and a mint from the front desk would have to do. “Sleep now?” he asked John hopefully. “Pity,” John agreed with a sage nod. “You’d make a smashing princess.” She really would, actually; no hyperbole or tease, she seemed like she’d handle the particular pressures well enough. Plus, she was photogenic and surprisingly accepting of… everything so far. Then again, it was early days. She hadn’t seen all of the crazy they’d just swept in with, which was bound to get out of hand quickly now that people had powers intact again. Kept penned up for a week or more, people had to be restless and ready to shake loose. Circling an arm low on Richie’s waist, well away from his stitches to help him down, John arched his brows. “What do we owe you, then? We’ll settle up and be on our way. Then, all the sleep,” he agreed. Richie slid an arm across John’s back in turn, getting off the exam table and already feeling the burn from those wounds - but getting stitches just hurt, no way around it, so he shouldn’t expect anything less. He was alive, that was the important thing. And he’d pop a painkiller (or seven) and be good to go. “Oh, it’s fine - “ Alexis had been wearing gloves and they gave a bit of a snap when she pulled them off and gladly deposited them into the waste bin (ew, good, the color didn’t even go with her outfit). “You just arrived here from the old-timey haunted mansion, they probably didn’t have Visa back then?” Whatever, it didn’t matter. Ted didn’t seem to mind either - he was mostly just baffled by...whatever this was. “Go on - schoo,” she waved the newcomers off. “The mattresses at the motel are super comfortable.” There hadn’t been any currency in the house, true, but in spite of the ridiculous outfits and general air of being flaming dumpster fires, John and Richie did have money. It had been supplied with the latest round of luggage that couldn’t possibly belong to anyone; about the only thing of use in there, really, and John was prepared to hand over a chunk because that was just how medical care worked. So he was understandably taken aback at the dismissal. His head swiveled from Alexis to the toothpaste ad that was her boyfriend, looking for the catch, but when none came… “All right. If you’re sure. You change your minds, or we can do anything for you, you know where to find us.” Town wasn’t that big and she apparently owned the whole bloody thing, so hunting them down would be easy enough. He nodded his thanks again and steered Richie out of the exam room and toward the door. “Got the walk back in you, or d’we need to find somewhere to sit a bit? Get some kind of decent calories in you first?” “Food can come later. If I sit, I’m not getting back up for another six hours,” Richie pointed out, and he almost reminded John that he too needed the rest and to rest his voice, but the accent was just so nice. Or fun. Alexis had been right - like poisoned honey, rough, thick as London fog. Must be the fact that he was nearly choked out a few hours ago, or smoked like a chimney. Toss up. Though he did stop for a second, hand traveling up from John’s shoulder to cradle the back of his head, leaning in to close the distance - it was meant to be a quick kiss, but Richie held on. A little bit longer than he anticipated, a little more tender, then a little more desperate - like getting sucked into a black hole. He forgot they were in public. Then he pulled back slightly. “I’m glad you didn’t have to tell your time traveling pirate friends to track me down, angelface.” Fair, John acknowledged with a tip of his chin. The walk between motel and clinic wasn’t so bad and they’d made it once already. What was another go at it? They’d get back, lose the wreckage of their borrowed finery (good riddance), and collapse for some well-deserved sleep. Hopefully later they could sort out if the shower worked. John wanted to wash about five thousand years of dust from his skin, then to help Richie do the same. Mindful of all the stitches, of course. Didn’t want to undo Model Ted’s good work. He paused when Richie drew him around, not putting up much fuss about it. Public never mattered to him much, not even in strange places. Then again, John was also the sort to stroll into Hell like he belonged there, so… maybe he wasn’t the best judge on propriety. Regardless, who turned down a kiss? “Yeah, well,” he murmured, head tipped against Richie’s, “Didn’t want you to think you could be rid of me so easy. Plenty of trouble yet to share, isn’t there?” He chuckled, low and with the hint of a wheeze, and stole another quick kiss before pulling around to resume their walk. If pressed, he’d probably have to admit that Richie was about 85% of his decision to stick around on this ride. Maybe more. But hopefully nobody was going to be asking, if only so he could pretend he was still here to keep making sure the rest of their merry band of idiots didn’t get dead when nobody was looking. They could both use a good cleanse, and sleep, and an actual hot meal that didn’t come from cans in the pantry (because in hell house, they weren’t eating anything fresh or the food had been snatched away or instead of a warm casserole, a crowbar baked in the oven), but they’d get there. Injuries had been tended to, so, Richie was fairly certain that the rest of it would come in short order. “Plenty of trouble,” he agreed, with a crooked grin that was delightfully mischievous and delightfully snaggle-toothed, pain making everything very nearly numb. It was either his body was shutting down for the sake of protection or endorphins were kicking in - likely the second, see, affection was sometimes the best medicine. “And a first date at the dive bar. You really know how to charm a guy, John Constantine.” Which also may bring more trouble, but that was okay. Richie could handle it. They could handle this too, whatever it happened to be. |